Love and Luck
by Jessa4865
Summary: Olivia and Elliot test one and find the other. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Love and Luck  
(title stolen shamelessly from a Jimmy Buffett song; blame the first paragraph on reading too much Faulkner)  
jezyk  
Spoilers: Um.... I'll say season 10 just in case, but really nothing in particular, 'cept maybe Undercover.  
Disclaimer: Not it. 'nuf said.

It was Thursday evening, just about the time most normal people were sitting down to dinner, gathering their families around them, parents discussing the more interesting points of their days while passing around bowls of mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese and dads told lame jokes and moms begged kids to eat more green beans and kids kept amassing piles of green beans in their napkins to feed to the dog when mom wasn't looking and older sisters regaled the parents with stories of cute jocks who'd smiled at them in the hallways by their lockers and younger brothers snickered and made smacking noises with their lips and baby sisters started to cry partly because no one was listening to the poem they'd learned that day, but mostly because the macaroni was gone and they were left with a bowl of green beans and their big brothers hadn't yet taught them the napkin trick.

Or at least, having never been a part of anything resembling a family in her entire life, that was what Olivia imagined was going on behind all the closed curtains in the buildings they passed. Rather than sitting down to a delicious home-cooked meal or even greedily accepting something from a diner that didn't quite pass for food, she and Elliot were on their way to interview a potential witness. They'd been working the rape since the previous weekend and, although they really ought to have known better, they still had high hopes that the woman really had seen something important and would wrap up the case, agree to testify, and allow them the fleeting feeling of accomplishment.

As usual, Elliot was behind the wheel, as eager to vent some of his anger by cursing at other drivers as Olivia was to avoid driving whenever she could. She'd always preferred walking, having only gotten her license because one was required to attend the police academy. But Elliot was wound up a little tighter than he normally was and Olivia was leery of asking, for fear he was just waiting for her to ask so he could dump some disintegrating family angst anger on her. So she stared out the window silently as they drove deeper into a part of the city she never would have dared venture into without her gun and Elliot at her side.

She watched as the curtains became bed sheets, hung haphazardly, held in place by the closed windows. Inside those places, she knew, there were no happy family dinners, no middle-class issues. The sheets were tacked up out of necessity to keep prying eyes out of family business, not because they were fashionable. Olivia knew all too well about those houses and apartments. Her mother had been a tenured professor and by rights, Olivia should have grown up in one of the popular, well-to-do neighborhoods, and attended private school. Instead, due entirely to her mother's alcohol-induced inability to pay anything on time or to stop drinking every dime she made, Olivia had spent her formative years in the slums she later grew to fear, not simply because of their violence, but because of how familiar they felt. She'd gone to crappy schools and tried her best to avoid all the problems that wound up trapping the other kids in the same neighborhood as adults. Olivia had been bright, and, though it earned her no end of teasing from the few kids who bothered to notice the wallflower, she knew her intelligence could get her out of there.

She'd gone to school and gotten her degree and found a good job and moved into a neighborhood she could barely afford and decorated it with all the most current trends. Not because she'd always wanted to be a snob. Simply because it was different from her mom, different from what she knew. Expensive and refined slowly became the norm for her and most of the time, she was able to pretend that it had always been that way. She was educated and well-mannered and no one ever suspected that she'd lived anyplace else all her life. And she was happy to pretend that it was true, happy to forget where she'd grown up.

Until she wound up in a place so filthy that she half expected to see her mother passed out in the building lobby.

Whether Elliot knew her secret or not, she didn't know. She assumed he did, simply because after twelve years, there wasn't much left that they didn't know about each other. At any rate, he didn't mention her tendency to sulk in her melancholy and she was grateful. She felt her feelings; she didn't want to talk about them too. That was one trait she was happy to share with Elliot. No amount of talking in the world would make her early life have been any different, so she didn't see the point of discussing it.

With a muttered curse, Elliot pointed the car at a parking space. Actually, it wasn't a parking space, which explained why it was open, but it was close enough. Olivia was unhooking her seat belt; Elliot was pulling the keys from the ignition. Squealing brakes unexpectedly close made both of them jump.

The sound was followed by a hideous screeching noise, indicative of hinges sorely needing oil or to be put out of their misery.

"What the fuck! This is my spot!" Leaning on the hood with an angry glare was something recently descended from a Sasquatch. Olivia estimated that he was about Elliot's height, probably a bit heavier, and considerably less well groomed. In fact, if they'd driven to some backwoods part of West Virginia, the man yelling at them was pretty much exactly what she would have expected to find. Except they were in New York City. He was still cursing up a storm about his space and single handedly destroying the ozone layer with the thick gray exhaust pouring from various spots on his pickup.

Olivia turned to Elliot, finding that her partner was doing the same thing. They shared a smile small enough not to be noticed before they climbed out of the car. Hanging back, Olivia let Elliot step up to the man's side, realizing she'd underestimated the man's height by several inches. Luckily, Elliot wasn't easily intimidated, and certainly not by someone wearing a woman's denim jacket, complete with rhinestones on the pockets, Willie Nelson style braids, a frighteningly large silver belt buckle that read 'Bad Ass' and cowboy boots. Olivia fought back the urge to snicker as the man tried to scare Elliot with a stare. Nope, Elliot wasn't going to back down from a man in heels.

Elliot didn't pull his badge, evidently not feeling it necessary. "Why don't you calm down?"

"Why don't you move your fucking car?"

In the man's tone and posture, Olivia immediately knew there was no point in arguing. The man clearly believed he owned the no-parking place and wasn't about to be dissuaded. But Elliot didn't like it when people tried to intimidate him, and after twelve years, Olivia was certain that he liked it even less when it happened in front of her. Had he been with Fin, he would have flashed his badge, told the man to fuck off, and walked away. But Elliot was already in a bad mood and Bad Ass was a much better target for his anger, at least in Olivia's mind.

Born either out of the need to impress her or the desire to prove that he was a macho asshole, Elliot leaned forward into the guy's face. "I'm not moving."

Olivia squeezed her eyes closed and told herself that Elliot was absolutely not doing it to piss her off. Then she stepped forward, drawing both pairs of eyes to her. She met Elliot's and nodded toward the building. "Come on, we have work to do."

Miraculously, Elliot listened to her for once, giving the man a wide berth as he stepped around him and came to Olivia's side. But before they could move away, Bad Ass was back.

He crossed in front of them, the click of his heels on the cement almost funny as he blocked their path. "You need to move your fucking car, pretty boy."

As if the whole persona wasn't amusing enough, Olivia couldn't wait to tell the guys about Elliot being called a pretty boy. She relished the laugh she'd share with her friends over it. Unfortunately, Elliot failed entirely to see the humor.

He moved forward, narrowing his eyes. Olivia knew he was moments from bruised knuckles and she was not in the mood for that. "Get the hell out of my face, asshole!"

Olivia's hand was on her gun, though she was torn whether to brandish it at their new friend or to use it to clobber Elliot. Either way, she was pretty much guaranteed success.

"Move your damn car or you'll be sorry." The man wasn't intimated by Elliot and Olivia guessed it had something to do with the alcohol wafting off his breath.

"Are you threatening me?"

Trying to suppress the giggles inevitably brought on by even inadvertent Beavis and Butthead references, Olivia told herself that laughing would only make the situation worse. She reached out, putting her hand on her partner's arm. "Stop, Elliot, let it go. What can you possibly gain from this?"

Elliot's angry glare turned on her. "You been hanging out with Huang again?"

Before she could respond the jerk jumped in, mimicking her. "Yeah, _Elliot_, let it go." He snickered, finding his impression incredibly funny.

With her hand on his arm, she could feel the way he tensed, his instincts wanting him to fight it out. He glanced at her, giving her a look she could almost label apologetic. The cause was already lost. They both knew it.

The prick only needed to give Elliot an excuse and unfortunately, he did. He reached out, grabbing Elliot lapels. "Move your fucking car now!"

Olivia didn't even see him swing. She just saw the guy's head jerk back, blood spurting from his lip. She sighed, imagining that her night was going from bad to worse right before her eyes. She had to try something. She stepped in, using the time the man was staggering around, to grab Elliot's jacket herself. "What are you doing? Do you really want to explain this to IAB?"

Elliot winced, as though the thought of repercussions had escaped him entirely until Olivia brought it up. He nodded, glancing at the guy who was crouched down, nursing his busted lip like it was a fatal blow. "Fuck off."

In keeping with the shitty luck that comprised the rest of her night, it turned out that Becky Thompkins was quite possibly the most reluctant witness Olivia had ever encountered. It took the better part of thirty minutes to get the woman to open her front door. After that, they asked and begged and pleaded and nearly threatened for over an hour before Becky finally agreed to come down to the precinct the following morning to work with a sketch artist.

Although it was far from the best outcome and they had yet to find out if Becky had any intention of actually showing up or if her agreement had simply been a ploy to get them to leave, as they headed down the four flights of stairs Olivia couldn't help but feel that something was actually going right. Becky had been reluctant, but not impossible. She hadn't denied being at the club; she hadn't denied seeing anything.

With a sigh, Olivia began mentally cataloging her freezer's contents and pondering what to have for dinner. She pushed on the metal bar of the door, releasing the lock, and stepped back onto the street with Elliot half a step behind her.

And not quite a moment later, just when Olivia had decided on the Stouffer's meatloaf, something cold and sharp pressed against her throat, stealing her breath and her thoughts. In a moment of instinctive terror that could never be fully trained way, her eyes locked on Elliot's. The eye contact only last a second, only long enough for her to see his eyes widen in matching fear. A hand shot out of the darkness, catching his chin and sending him falling backwards.

Then she heard the snicker, the voice still fresh in her memory, Bad Ass was definitely the one behind her with the knife. Unfortunately, she hadn't figured that he'd have so many friends, friends which were descending on Elliot in front of her.

They were grabbing him, hauling him to his feet, holding his arms back, four or five of them, she couldn't tell because it was dark and she couldn't turn her head. Elliot's lip was bleeding, his eyes sparking with anger and fury and more than a little bit of horror when he recognized the situation Olivia was in. Bad Ass' arm was around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides, pulling her against his strong, lumpy shape, his knife making its own point, pushing sharply into her throat.

His intoxicated breath washed over her face as he spoke, half laughing. "You should have listened to your girlfriend, Elliot." He turned then, his face, his lips, his mouth, brushing against Olivia's cheek, eliciting a whimper of disgust from her that she couldn't force back.

The peanut gallery had a good chuckle, both over Olivia's response and Elliot's short-lived attempt to pull free. He'd reacted instinctively, she knew, jerking his arms and trying to help her, receiving a blow to his gut that doubled him over.

Olivia tried to keep her wits about her, not sure how long it would be before one of the bastards caught a glimpse or a feel of a badge or gun. She wasn't sure if it was good or not that their attackers had no idea they were cops.

"Elliot here owes me." Bad Ass snickered, his tongue slapping against Olivia's face, leaving her to fight back the gag reflex. And then his voice was in her ear. "And you're going to pay me."

Elliot struggled again, either not knowing or not caring that he was seriously outnumbered. They held him back, but Olivia could see that he was putting up far more of a fight than they expected.

"Have at him, boys." Bad Ass chuckled as his friends let loose, Olivia watching helplessly while they pummeled her partner.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

She couldn't count the number of blows that they landed on Elliot. She couldn't tell how long she'd been there, held prisoner, helpless to do anything but watch. Though her voice was silent, her body was tensed, angry, mentally screaming for the injustice of it all. She could swear she felt each punch and kick as if they were landing on her.

And she knew Elliot was hurt when he stopped trying to get back up.

Terrified that his life was threatened from the severity of the beating, Olivia couldn't hold back anymore, not even if the knife pierced her skin. "Stop! Stop it! Leave him alone!"

She struggled against the hands holding her, but her initial assessment of the man, which put him on the larger side of Elliot, had been accurate and her strength paled in comparison. She may as well have trying to fight a brick wall for all the give she found. "Stop it! Please!" Her voice broke, tears threatening. "You'll kill him!"

Bad Ass found her fear, her tears, funny, his laughter rumbling against her back. "He should have thought of that before!"

Olivia continued to fight his hold, her instincts desperate to not do anything that might further injure Elliot, her anger desperate to point out that she had suspected it was a bad idea and still hadn't foreseen quite the level of retribution Elliot was receiving. Rather than the shouts and curses that wanted to spill forth, Olivia kept her voice soft, begging the crazy men for mercy.

"Please leave him alone!"

Bad Ass chuckled again. "Only if you'll make it worth my while, sweet thing!"

With a groan, Olivia forced herself not pull away from the wet kiss he left on her neck, only because of the knife threatening to end her life if she did. Still, she understood all too well what was coming, her mind readily pulling up the half-suppressed memories of Harris' hands on her body. She didn't have to remind herself to sound pathetic when she spoke again, choking on her tears left no other choice.

"Please stop hurting him." She was helpless once again, hating herself even more the second time because Elliot was there to witness it.

"All right, get him up!" Bad Ass issued the order with the tone of a drill sergeant and his buddies followed the command with as much gusto.

They hauled Elliot to his feet by his arms, two of them holding him up and pinning his arms back at the same time. He could barely stand, his body swaying dangerously even with the support. And although his head was leaning to the side, his face hidden by dirt and blood, his eyes were locked on Olivia's.

"I want him awake to see his girlfriend pay up." Bad Ass continued to find humor in the situation, laughing away to himself while Elliot tried and failed to find the strength to pull himself free.

Olivia tried to blink back the tears, not wanting Elliot to know how truly scared she was. She didn't want him to see her panic, not the way she had with Harris.

"Joe, get over here, help me hold her."

One of the shadowed forms moved toward her, rough hands wrenching her arms back behind her, fingers squeezing painfully into her skin. Then Bad Ass was in front of her, smiling with his stained, cooked teeth, chuckling to himself.

"I'm going to have some fun with you." His grin grew wider as he reached out, his knife hidden away, his hands free to touch her face. He moved forward, holding her face still while he kissed her. She refused to open her mouth, forcing back the scream as his tongue moved across her lips.

He pulled back, unhappy that she wasn't compliant. "Open your mouth, bitch!" His fingers found her chin, digging into her face, trying to make her give in.

She heard Elliot's grunt, another futile attempt to defend her, and it gave her strength. "Fuck you," she spat through clenched teeth.

Bad Ass laughed again, giving her no warning before he pulled his hand back, slamming his fist into her cheek. "Oh, you'll fuck me all right, honey. You'll fuck all of us."

His hands shifted, giving up on her mouth, slowly moving down over her body. Olivia refused to look at him, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her misery close up. Instead she held Elliot's stare, finding comfort in the rage she saw there.

God help him, she knew if he managed to get his hands free, he'd kill the bastard. The realization, the recognition, took her breath away. He'd kill for her. He'd really kill someone to protect her. That he cared so much about her amazed her.

Bad Ass had no idea that Olivia was finding anything at all pleasant in those moments. His hands were skimming all over her body, trying to claim her as his own. He grabbed at her breasts, squeezing the tender tissue, sliding his hands under the hem of her shirt, his filthy fingers clawing at her bra and skin.

Olivia didn't even blink. She just stared at Elliot, trying to keep herself from feeling the assault. It seemed Elliot was trying to do the same thing, holding her eyes to prevent himself from seeing the man touching her.

Bad Ass was muttering, apparently cursing his own drunken stupidity for not being able to work the button on her pants. Olivia lost the battle with her tears, feeling them sliding down her face as she tried not to be aware of anything else. Elliot didn't miss the tears, couldn't miss them, not with the way he refused to look away. She could see the fury kick up a notch, the veins visible in his neck as he renewed his fight, his body shaking from his rage.

He must have been sending up silent prayers, Olivia realized, because they were answered. With timing she couldn't quite believe, a beat car happened past, the two officers inside noticing the commotion. Her eyes didn't move from Elliot's, but she recognized the flashing lights, alternating flashes of red and blue, the sound of muffled voices on the radio.

Then a shout. "Everything ok over here?"

Bad Ass was reaching for his knife.

Elliot didn't care. "Manhattan SVU, we need help!"

One of Bad Ass' friends was the first to realize what was going on. "Oh, fuck, they're cops!" He turned and ran, leaving one of Elliot's arms free. Elliot took that as an invitation, swinging his arm around in a punch before the other guy holding him knew what hit him.

Joe, the one holding Olivia still, let go, torn for a moment between standing up for his friends and saving himself. The moment cost him because when he finally chose to run, there were two uniforms holding guns on him. The next second, Joe was face down on the sidewalk.

Olivia took the opportunity, slamming her fists into Bad Ass' face, relieving some of her anger and frustration before one of the uniforms joined her, assuring her that he had him, stopping Olivia long before she felt they were even. She had her gun pulled before she could even turn to check on Elliot, finding her partner had subdued the third man with his fists and had his gun aimed at the fourth.

Only when the four men they had were in handcuffs, lined up on the sidewalk and awaiting additional units to transport them, did Olivia actually feel like she could breathe again. She filled in one of the officers on her side of events while Elliot did the same with his partner. There would be statements, a trial, possibly a line-up if they found the fifth guy, but Olivia didn't care. She was so thankful for the other cops that she could have hugged them. In fact, if she wasn't half convinced Elliot would murder the next man who touched her, she might have.

Instead, she sat next to him in their sedan, waiting for the ambulance she'd insisted on despite Elliot's protests. She wanted to make sure he was as fine as he claimed to be, the sort of fine that she knew he wasn't. And she decided it would be good for her psyche to see Bad Ass, aka Jeremy Lewis, carted off to jail.

They sat in silence, unable or unwilling to find words to say in those quiet moments before the wail of sirens filled the air. Olivia dared to glance at her partner, surprised to see his face screwed up in anger rather than relief. He turned toward her, his expression unchanging as his eyes met hers.

She'd expected to find comfort there, as she had during the attack. But she found only coldness, a hard, icy edge to his eyes that made her shiver. The bus pulled up behind them, the flashing lights giving Olivia a headache. She reached across the seat, lightly touching his hand, searching for some evidence of the connection she'd felt a few moments earlier.

"Elliot?"

He jerked his hand away, moving to open his door. "I don't want to talk about it." And then he was gone, uncharacteristically presenting himself to the paramedics the moment she climbed out of the car.

She tried not to think about it while she made small talk with the other cops, wasting time while Elliot was examined. Three more units arrived, each carting off one of the bastards who'd attacked them while the original pair took charge of Jeremy. Olivia issued them a promise that she and Elliot would be down in the morning to give their official statements before she made her way to the back of the bus.

One of the medics was shutting the doors, preventing Olivia from even catching a glimpse of her partner. "He seems ok, but we're going to transport him just to make sure."

Olivia nodded. "I'll follow you."

The medic smiled at her as he headed around to the driver's side. "That's what your partner said."

She went back to the sedan, wondering why Elliot was taking his anger out on her. It wasn't exactly unheard of for the man to vent at her, but under the circumstances, she would have expected a little more consideration. As she followed the bus, she concentrated on being pissed off at Elliot, because it kept her mind off the assault she'd just endured.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

Exhaustion had taken a firm hold of Olivia somewhere during the short drive. She leaned on the wall just to the left of the stretcher Elliot was sitting on. He was sitting up and responding politely and calmly, trying to convince the hospital staff that he was fine. Olivia herself had only taken one punch, so while her cheek was throbbing, she wasn't nearly injured enough to need to convince anyone of anything, and therefore was leaning on the wall, hoping her legs would hold her up for a while longer.

Her damage was on the inside and she determined the sooner she got home and thus was able to pretend it hadn't happened, the better off she'd be. But, she couldn't leave her partner's side, not when he'd been beaten up, not while he was being checked over in the emergency room, not even with him being pissy. He was her partner after all.

She watched through half-closed eyes while the doctor examined Elliot, listening to the routine questions and irritated, yet compliant answers. Elliot quietly rattled off the date, the next holiday, the city, his address, even the more personal questions Olivia knew he'd prefer not to discuss, like that he was divorced and lived alone. She let her eyes slip closed completely while he was poked and prodded, taking heart in the diagnosis that Elliot was beat up and bruised, but more or less fine. Nothing broken, nothing that wouldn't heal. Just a concussion.

With a contented nod, the doctor apologized for having to keep Elliot overnight, except that Elliot had already revealed that there would be no one at his place to keep an eye on him. Elliot's good humor failed at that statement, groaning and trying to talk the doctor out of it. The doctor shook his head and remained steadfast, explaining that hospital policy was hospital policy.

Between the guilt she felt at the thought of Elliot having to spend the night in the hospital and the idea that she might fall asleep while waiting to see which of the men would win the argument, Olivia had to speak up. "He can stay with me."

Elliot's head snapped toward her and she could already hear the obnoxious way he'd insist that he'd rather stay in the hospital, but she didn't care. She suspected that having Elliot around would kill two birds with one stone – he wouldn't have to be hospitalized and she wouldn't have to be alone.

The doctor didn't bother to check if the plan was ok with Elliot. He simply nodded and promised he'd rush the paperwork for them to leave. As eager as she was to leave, she was sorry to see the doctor go. She'd already agreed to deal with Elliot, but she wasn't in any hurry for him to turn his anger on her as she knew he would. He always did. And she wasn't in the mood for it.

Elliot spoke, less than a second after the doctor left the room. "You don't have to do this. I can stay here."

Certain she'd misheard his soft voice, she forced her eyes to open. "What?"

He didn't look at her, staring instead at his lap. "I wasn't fishing for an invitation."

"I just want to get home before I fall asleep at the wheel. Offering my couch seemed like the fastest way out of here." She didn't know where the anger had gone and she wasn't sure it was going to stay there, so she didn't want to open up. If she was alone, she was guaranteed to have nightmares, to relive mixed up memories of Harris and Lewis, to feel ghosts of hands on her body. She knew she'd feel safe with Elliot there, even if he turned back into a jerk.

He shrugged, as though he didn't believe her honest answer for one second. "I can drive if you want."

She couldn't stop the laugh that spilled forth. "You're kidding, right? You have a head injury. You're not driving."

A little under a half hour later, Olivia pushed open the door to her apartment. Elliot silently slipped in behind her and sat down on the couch. He hadn't said another word since the hospital, but Olivia didn't press. She figured his bad mood was back and if he wanted to spend the night sulking, she wasn't about to interfere. She had bigger problems.

Like the fact that the urge to sleep was gone, leaving her wide awake and nervous.

Like the fact that her skin was crawling.

Every time she tried to tell herself that Lewis was locked up and that he hadn't gotten as far as he'd wanted, her mind readily called up the feeling of his hands on her body, her chest, and she had to force herself not to heave. Elliot could be a fucker when he was mad and she didn't want to expose the vulnerability she felt in front of him.

She didn't want to look at him, not since halfway home, when doing so suddenly threw her back into the horrible moments when she was being felt up by Lewis, holding Elliot's stare like a lifeline.

Unsure how much longer she would make it before she started to freak out regardless of the audience, Olivia nodded toward the hallway even though Elliot wasn't looking at her. "I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself at home."

He didn't respond; she didn't expect that he would. She took her time in the shower, turning the faucet to the hottest setting she could stand and scrubbing her skin mercilessly. Each time she soaped herself up and rinsed off, she thought she'd be ok, but every time she reached for the controls, she felt filthy and couldn't stop herself from washing off again.

She used up half her body wash before she gave up, mostly because her skin was raw from the scrubbing and not actually feeling clean. Rather than her regular shorts and shirt, she dug through her drawers for thick sweats, desperate for whatever added security she could find. Figuring Elliot was asleep already, she decided to check on him once before she tried to sleep, knowing that it wasn't going to happen no matter how hard she tried.

Surprisingly, Elliot was sitting on her sofa in the exact same position as when she'd left. She didn't have anything to say, but the despondence he'd been displaying was bothering her. Drawing her feet up under her, she settled into the cushions beside him. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"I'm not." He didn't look at her, and although she was trying not to look at him, she was still hurt by the way he stared in the other direction.

"We should probably get something to eat, you know? We never got dinner." Food was the absolute last thing on her mind. She simply needed something to say and food always seemed like a safe topic.

"Not hungry."

"Yeah, me either." Stifling her sigh, she stopped trying. Olivia had never been any good at drawing a sullen Elliot out. Besides, she figured, it was his turn.

Unfortunately, Elliot either didn't notice or didn't care that it was his turn. A few moments of quiet turned into a long, uncomfortable silence that allowed her mind to remember Lewis and Harris. Her skin, which had never stopped crawling, felt as filthy as ever. Unwilling to cry in front of the man that hadn't bothered to inquire if she was ok, she cleared her throat.

"I'm going to take another shower." Her words pulled a reaction from him, his head turning slightly toward her, but his eyes remained locked away. She was irritated, knowing he wasn't hurt bad enough to merit being such an ass to her. "My skin is crawling, so-" She leaned forward, unfolding her legs toward the floor.

And then he did look at her, his face lost and confused and scared and hurt. His hand moved to her cheek, his fingers lightly stroking her. "Don't."

The openness on his face threw her; she'd never seen her partner unsure. She chewed on her lip, telling herself not to lean into his hand, reminding herself that, after the night she'd had, a man's touch shouldn't bring her comfort. "I know it's not going to help." But really, hiding from Elliot suddenly seemed like a brilliant plan.

His eyes, his face, fell, leaving him staring at the couch, his hand retreating to his lap. And then he spoke again, his voice soft and choked with emotion. "I'm sorry, Liv."

For a moment, she didn't have any idea what had caused his unexpected apology. She had no clue what he was talking about. She watched as he moved his hands to his face, dropping his elbows to his knees to support him. He was sorry for touching her, she realized, he thought he'd made her uncomfortable. She reached out, the unfamiliarity of touching him making her shake as she put her hand on his back.

"Don't apologize, it's not you." She knew he wasn't listening, or at least, he wasn't going to believe her. "It was that prick Lewis, Elliot."

He shook his head. "I'm so, so sorry." Speaking seemed to take the rest of his energy, leaving him to drop his face further, his hands curling around the back of his head. His shoulders began to shake with the force of his sobs.

Seeing her partner double over in tears brought her own tears out as well. "Elliot, what are you-"

He looked up, shaking his head to stop her from asking. His eyes were full of tears, streaks making their way down his face. "You told me to stop." He paused long enough to take a breath as his body continued to shake. "It's my fault that bastard touched you, it's my fault he hurt you." He looked down again, shaking his head at himself. "You were assaulted because I didn't listen to you and I'll never forgive myself for that."

"Stop, Elliot, stop!" She could barely talk through her own tears, hell, she could barely breathe through the pain she felt that mirrored his. "No, it wasn't your fault." The pieces began to click, the anger, the way he'd tried to avoid her, the silence. He thought he'd brought it on her and she hated that he felt so guilty.

"No, Liv, you said to let it go and if I had, he never would have touched you."

She grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it between both of hers, trying to draw his eyes back to her. "Elliot, that bastard was ready to kill both of us over a fucking parking space. There's not a damn thing you could have done to anticipate that."

He shook his head, refusing to look at her. "I could have moved the damn car. What difference would it have made to me?"

"Elliot, look at me." When he didn't, she grabbed his chin, pulling his face level with hers. "Those fuckers are in prison where they belong and we helped put them there. With all the possible things that could have gone down tonight, I think we're pretty fucking lucky."

He said nothing, staring back at her for a long moment before ducking down to hide his face.

All of her energy abandoned her, leaving her as exhausted as she'd been at the hospital. "I give up. I'm going to bed." She stood up, hating that she was turning her back on her partner when he was so upset, but knowing there was nothing she could say to get through to him, not when he was so clearly determined to wallow in self-pity.

His hand closed around hers before she could take a step. He yanked, pulling her back onto the couch. A split second later, she was wrapped in his arms, his muscles squeezing her so hard it hurt. But she didn't care, not a bit, and returned the embrace, curling her arms around his back.

His face turned toward her, his breath spilling over her ear as he spoke, his voice giving away the fresh wave of tears she couldn't see. "I love you."

She was thankful just then that she was in his arms, allowing her the relative privacy to stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, in shock at his words. She didn't know what to say, how to respond. She couldn't quite believe what she'd heard.

He moved one of his hands up, sliding his fingers through her hair, still keeping her tight in his arms. "I just want you to know that in case we're not so lucky next time."

His words overwhelmed her. All she could do was hold him, unable to make sense of her own thoughts. It felt like forever before she realized she needed to say something, before she understood that he had to feel incredibly exposed having said something so personal and not hearing anything in return.

"I love you too, El." With a smile on her face, she turned toward him. "But my back is killing me right now." She expected that her admission and her complaint would combine to give him the courage to release her, to be able to look her in the eye again.

But rather than letting her go, he moved his arms, dropping them lower around her hips and pulling her body into his lap. Then he tightened his arms back around her and settled back against the couch.

She was so comfortable, so secure, so safe, that the phantom touches on her skin were erased from her mind, leaving her a peace of mind she'd never felt before. It wasn't long before her eyes slipped closed, his warmth lulling her to sleep.

She didn't know how long it took him to notice, but eventually she felt him shaking her gently. He was trying to pull her from the happy, protected place she was in and she didn't want to hear of it. "Tired."

"I know, you should go to bed." His arms were finally slack around her and when he placed a kiss on her cheek, she realized that was her cue.

As soon as she stood, she felt cold, immediately missing the soothing presence of his arms. With out his embrace, she feared the memories would be back and she didn't want to face the thought. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand. "Come on. You need sleep too."

She could see the question in his eyes, but he didn't give it voice. Instead, he followed her as she led the way to her room. He crawled in the bed beside her, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. More content than she had any right to be, she snuggled against him, sliding an arm across his waist and throwing one leg over his.

Peeking up at him one last time before closing her eyes, she smiled. "Remind me in the morning that I want to kiss you."

He smiled back, the same happiness and relief she felt reflected in his eyes. "I'll hold you to that."


End file.
